The Records of Angela Cross: Volume 1
by Bee Czar
Summary: (AU) From well-paid geneticist to vigilante thief seeking to unravel a sinister corporate conspiracy and avert a galaxy-wide apocalypse, Angela Cross has her work cut out for her when she inevitably stumbles upon just how dire the threat is to many corners of the universe and beyond. These are her records of her quest.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment, LLC. **

**The Records of Angela Cross**

**Entry 1**

_Intergalactic Date: June 25th, 30XX_

_Planet Yeedil_

My name is Doctor Angela Cross.

I graduated top of my class at Aleero City University in the Solana Galaxy, I found employment in Megacorp as one of its top and youngest geneticists, and I'm also one of the few scientists in the company that has an ACTUAL degree unlike some of my unstable co-workers here.

In the beginning, I enjoyed my position here at Megacorp. Gosh, my mom and brothers were so happy for me back then.

Directly five years later after starting here, I was approached with the prestigious offer of becoming the Team Leader tasked of an off-the-record, ultra secret, hush-hush genetics project. Of course, there was no way that I would have refused that offer back then. Looking back, I wish I thought to ask at least _some_ questions instead of just jumping straight in with none asked.

I mean...

A person doesn't look a Pythor in the mouth or something, right?

I went forward with my starry-eyed dreams and my impulsive gut feelings, and knowing what I know right now I think that I just might have doomed myself and countless others.

What...set a lot of things into motion began when my team and I were first tasked with **Project PROTOPET**. A project to create the perfect, non-allergenic, nonperishable, and highly intelligent pet/companion to be available for the public by next holiday season. In theory, it was doable. I mean, I was the team member doing the larger portion of the work, after all.

Things only went downhill when Vox Industries rolled into this galaxy, and...it all happened within the blink of an eye.

There was a lot of legal back and forth, most of the debacle covered on Megacorp or Vox Industries sanctioned news programs and podcasts depending on whichever planets. The two conglomerates going back and forth over and over. Each one trying to garner greater public support. Both of them resorting to ludicrous and grandiose threats to put one another out of business.

Vox Industries won out when they rolled out their Acquisitions Fleet.

Roughly seventy-five percent of Megaccorp's projects before were assessed, scrapped, and all records of numerous projects were reportedly incinerated. However, my team and I were among those "spared" from the chopping block and the Pink Slip Massacres. We were "encouraged" by upper management to keep working on **Project PROTOPET **as if nothing else had really happened. Just keep working and focus on meeting the deadline.

We should have done something.

We should have took our chances trying to get out of this galaxy like some departments had already attempted, but...

We didn't.

Our new overseers erased any possibility of rebellion when they appealed to our scientific curiosity by providing us with these strange canisters filled with this dark substance that management only referred to as Eco which allegedly would help us "speed the project up."

We did use it, obviously. We're scientists. If you give a team of scientists something new to use and test and experiment with, they're not going to squander that opportunity.

Duh.

However, a few tests later, we realized that the Eco we were given was too unpredictable and volatile. Doctor James T. Fullbladder used to jokingly call the substance "Monsterpropananse."

N-nobody is really laughing about that anymore.

May he be Reincarnated into a Better Life.

Edwina is still torn up about what happened to him.

...Hindsight can be a hell of a thing, you know?

The substance caused to multiple specimens to mutate beyond what they were meant for: a insatiable hunger for most forms of organic and inorganic materials, they're hard as all get out to actually put down (highly durable against bullets and explosives), and each and every one of them somehow gained the ability to rapidly spawn more of themselves. Trust me when I say that nobody should see the horror of groups of these things getting in a feeding frenzy.

We weren't allowed to continue the development of a pet. We were manipulated into giving Vox Industries a surplus of monsters for their latest get rich schemes. If the plan is still to sell and distribute the Protopets across Bogon during the holiday season, it's going to be a very bloody Christmas.

I just don't understand the end game though.

Where's the actual profit? .

I can't shake the feeling that the Protopet experiments are merely the heralds of something bigger, darker, and grander brewing in that dreadful corporate environment.

I'm definitely not a hero, but I can't just sit by and do nothing about this. I need to start thinking ahead and figure out where I'm going to start digging for answers.

This whole mess is...stressful.

It probably doesn't help I haven't slept in maybe 42 or 52 hours.

**Until Tomorrow (or two weeks),**

**Dr. Angela L. Cross**

**Vox Genetics Scientist No. 4043**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment.**

**The Records of Angela Cross**

**Entry No. 2**

_Intergalactic Date: August 3rd, 30XX._

_Planet Yeedil _

So, I caught up with an old associate from the Megacorp days. An Amoeboid by the name of Jacobi Price.

It was just a normal luncheon at Jacobi's favorite diner on this Planet Oozla, or so I was led to believe at first, and we casually shot the breeze about nothing for a while. The weather, what turn our lives had taken, and what Vox Industries has planned for the universe. It felt good to catch up with Jacobi, at first anyway.

Jacob was a weapons designer in the during the Megacorp days, but Vox kicked Jacobi to the curb when they were going over their new Megacorp assets that they actually kept. Apparently, the higher ups considered Jacobi to be too much of a liability. Jacobi shared details regarding the projects that Megacorp had him working on before Vox came into everybody's lives.

One such project was The Peacemaker. A highly durable, immensely powerful rifle that Jacobi boasted could have put most RYNO and Zodiac models to shame. A weapon that, in theory, could have been revolutionary and could have put Megacorp back on the map outside of the Bogon galaxy. It could have, that is, if hadn't been for Vox Industries' arrival ended the project before Jacobi and his team could build succeed a functional prototype.

This entire exchange of this information inevitably lead up to one huge, whooper of a problem for Jacobi and I. You see, in the aftermath of The Acquisition, all former Megacorp employees were mandated to sign numerous NDA forms. You know, the sort of paperwork that most people didn't understand as they were "aggressively encouraged" to sign.

No whistle blowing.

No slipping company secrets onto social media. No exceptions or loopholes.

No gossip by the water cooler.

No contract violations forgiven. Ever.

Jacobi, however, kept talking and insisting I listen.

Jacobi was on his seventh glass of Blarg Belini and he just...broke down. I tried, truly I did, to get him to calm down. I tried to console him just to get him to stop drawing attention to himself. Other people in the diner were definitely taking notice.

So, there I was - one of the few Lombaxes left in this universe - sitting with an Amoeboid inexplicably losing it in a greasy spoon diner smack dab in the Bogon Boonies.

The higher ups of Megacorp weren't saints, but compared to Vox Enterprises they might as well have told marketing to start advertising the company as a church.

In their prime, Megacorp owned the Bogon Galaxy and, yes, they had even orchestrated a few acquisitions of their own in their earlier days. Nobody was questioned about it since Megacorp was able to create a narrative that the company sincerely cared for their loyal consumers. With marketing genius like that, there was no contesting Megacorp's rise to power. It was more than enough for companies like Gadgetron to tuck tail and make profits elsewhere in the universe.

For all I know, this whole situation could just be karma coming around full circle.

Whatever the case might have been, I had ended up in a diner across a table from a blubbering Amoeboid getting the gut feeling that he was going to get himself killed and me along with him. Something that the universe confirmed when the walls of the diner exploded inward and Vox Execution Bots stomped into the place. Scanning the place and running everybody through Vox brand facial recognition software.

Instant chaos.

In the midst of all of it, Jacobi shoves this super old data orb into my hands. He tells me that the data orb contains data that could led me to the source of the Eco that Vox has been amassing. Jacobi seemed to be believe that if Eco was protected, Vox's operations in the Bogon would collapse. It might even be enough to properly restore Megacorp.

I'm still not the sure if I should trust the words of a guy that made a beeline to the restroom and escaped by flushing himself.

All of that happened about...let's see...four or five hours ago, I guess?

Sure, why not?

I've already been summoned by corporate to explain my connection to Jacobi and everything that he "may" have told me in direct violation of company policy and ruling next Friday. There are definitely going to be reprisals now, and I'm most likely going to be the first one that Vox intends to make an example out of.

I've got to go before an corporate evaluation and pretend to be a content, nonthreatening company woman that has no intent of questioning nor contesting the structure and the order of the Vox sanctioned workspace.

If they buy it, everything should be fine for a bit longer and I might have more...time.

If they don't buy it, that's game over for me.I...I think I need to get drunk.

Really, really, really…

**DRUNK.**

**Until Whenever,**

**Doctor Angela L. Cross. **

****Vox Genetics **Scientist No. 4043. **

**TEAM LEADER.**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment.

**The Records of Angela Cross**

**Entry No. 3**

_Intergalactic Date: September 12, 30XX_

_Planet Yeedil_

Been a while since I've updated these records, but I've been experiencing...a lot of stuff as of late. I've been experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations lately. At first, I tried to brush it aside as the result of the ridiculous amount of Snivelak Vodka I've been drinking in a poorly thought attempt to ease the stress that I've been under as of late.

All of this started after the Jacobi incident.

All of this started when I took the data core he forced upon me into my home. Sometimes, I find myself having rather intense conversations with my own reflection. Mostly around the weekend.

Some of these hallucinations are out of the corner of my eye, and I swear that I keep seeing this strange, portly weasel-otter creature standing and observing me with disapproval. Always mumbling under its breath that it expected more by now.

My recent experiences with dreams and nightmares haven't been any better.

I keep seeing these visions of these bio-mechanical monsters with amber gemstones embedded in their heads. They swarm from planet to planet eating, devastating, and obliterating everything in their wake.

Dreams are dreams and nightmares are nightmares. Nothing more than awkward, haywire chemistry in my brain. I've been under stress, and I'm a scientist. I mean, I have a doctorate for crying out loud!

I'm a woman of science, but I also a woman at my wit's end.

Therefore, I've been reduced to drinking numerous types of tea and resorted to meditation out of desperation, but none of it has been enough. I can't remember the last time I had a peaceful night of sleep.

ANYWAY, I got an e-mail from Edwina in Engineering earlier today. There's this...glider thing that we've been working on together for a while now and she needs me to stop by to give the thing another test run.

I know that Fred in Accounting has developed a ton of grievances with Vox Industries over his superiors banning the listening of audio books and confiscating handheld gaming devices on sight in his department. As if the life of an accountant isn't bleak and hopeless enough.

More importantly, the** Project PROTOPET **situation gets worse by the day. I' starting to think that there just might be active sabotage involved here.

What am I supposed to do now?

**Signed,**

**Doctor Angela L. Cross.**

**Vox Genetics. Scientist No. 40403**

**Team Leader.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment.  
**

**The Personal Records of Angela Cross**

**Record 4**

_October 31st, 30XX_

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

So, Jacobi is dead. Like, he's like **ultra sanitized dead** by Vox Janitor Bots. I shall it with my own two eyes, and I already suspect that I'll be seeing it again in my nightmares. Which was likely the intent of me bearing witness to the murder in the first place.

Edwina is MIA.

I'm pretty sure that Fred _FAKED_ his own death to erase himself from Vox's radar.

I've got an faulty prototype glider, I'm locked out of my Vox brand Personal Delivery Assistant, and I suspect it'll only be a matter of time before my Vox Bolt Bank account is frozen.

Vox knew.

Vox knew the whole damn time! Of course, they've been keeping record of dissidents to their business practices.

They weren't as inattentive to employee unrest as they wanted everybody to think. Vox frequently used informants reporting information over heard in the break rooms and they haven't been above bugging employee cubicles. They've been watching and listening to everything and there is very little, to say the freaking least, that anyone can do about it.

I'm in particular trouble since **Project PROTOPET** apparently holds more importance Vox han I assumed, and they're not happy that I've been conspiring behind their backs to end the project before they could ship those monsters out. Which is a moot point since I have now learned that they've been stockpiling the carnivorous fur balls in hundreds of crates in an old distribution facility on Planet Smolg.

And right now, it feels like I have this target on my back that is only getting bigger.

Jacobi got doused with cleaning fluid and was lit up in a heartbeat. It's...a hard blow. Jacobi was a great Amoeboid and an even greater weapon designer before all of this started. He didn't deserve to die that way.

Nobody does.

Now, there's no false pretenses and Vox Execution Bots are hunting down "unruly employees" en masse. Everybody is scrambling to find sanctuary outside of this gods forsaken galaxy and never, ever look back. Most of them have already been shot down by Vox Security Forces that have been patrolling nearly every sector in the galaxy.

This a dark hour for the people of this galaxy.

There's no way of reaching anybody outside this galaxy for help. There's no rescue going. No adventurers coming to topple tyrants.

Most people in this galaxy are on their own. Conditioned to keep buying, spending, and believing whatever they are told by Vox news anchors day after day.

As far as where - I - go from here?

I'm currently writing this entry from the temporary safety of my home on Planet Grelbin and once I've gathered up as much of my belongings as I can, I'll be taking a play from Fred's playbook and blowing this place sky high.

It isn't easy. After all, I was born and raised here. Mom was fortunate enough to escape Polaris and found safe haven here. There are...a lot of memories I have of this planet.

Anyway, when I'm done here I've got a ship to rewire and find a way to cobble together a warp drive from old spare parts.

I still have the data core that Jacobi fobbed onto me, and with a bit of luck I just might be able to get to the bottom of this...Eco stuff. With even greater luck, I might be able to unravel this mess and free Bogon from Vox Industries.

Somehow, I'm going to take down Vox and I'm probably going to die doing it.

For now, I just have to hold on to the hope that the giant crater where my home once stood will be enough to throw Vox's Execution Bots off my scent for a while.

_TL;DR: I have exactly no idea what I'm doing, everything is up in the air, and we're all doomed._

**Signed,**

**Angela L. Cross, Former and Very Disgruntled Employee of Vox Genetics.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment.**

**The Personal Records of Doctor Angela Cross**

**Record 5**

_November 4, 30XX_

So…

Studied the data core. found some coordinates, hot-wired a ship, the makeshift geometric warp drive actually worked, and my atoms and physical form are still in one piece.

And now, I'm kind of stranded on this rock in god knows which galaxy or solar system this is. I...have thankfully had a usable (old hand me down) Hologuise on me and I've been able to masquerade as any normal dominant life form on this planet.

Speaking of which, this species here kind of reminds me of this one planet I heard of back in my college days. I think that particular planet was relatively close to the Andromeda galaxy or something? I dunno.

Whatever the case may be, these people are mostly hairless and possess bizarre, long, pointed ears. Most of these people appear to be unhealthily thin presumably due to the state of this planet.

Which brings me to my problem here.

Half this planet has been devastated by these creatures that the locals call "Metal Heads". More on that later.

A large percentage of this planet is just...dessert. Wasteland.

It was through pure luck and chance that I even discovered the only city I could find on this planet.

Haven City : a dystopian city-state controlled by some generic, sadistic do...jerk calling himself "Baron Praxis' and has this whole "Krimzon Guard" that patrol the city and keeps the population oppressed.

People fall in line easily here lest they be exiled to the wastes where either Metal Heads will devour them or heatstroke will hopefully claim them first.

Yeah, this is one of THOSE planets apparently.

Yep.

I definitely do want to end up staring down the larger ones anytime soon.

Yeah…

You know what really bothers me?

Confirmation that the monsters I've been seeing in my nightmares are absolutely real and are active all over this nameless planet. Under any normal circumstances, I'd be off this planet in a heart beat.

But...

I can't get the data orb to load anymore.

The geometric warp drive I glued together is completely shot.

Gosh.

I think that I've bit off more than I can chew, you know?

I rebelled against Vox to prevent them from unleashing carnivorous fluff balls upon an entire galaxy and I'm just...here now and stuck in something that is far bigger than me and I honestly don't know how to feel or even process all of this..

You know, besides getting drunk again which technically didn't help anyone other than myself.

...But I'm going for it anyway.

Hopefully, whatever bar I find will be decent.

**Until the next update,**

**Doctor Angela L. Cross.**

**Team Leader.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment. **

**The Personal Records of Angela Cross**

**Record 6**

_November 25, 30XX_

So, I'm on the payroll of Haven City's crime lord and I've been feeling on edge ever sense.

Uh...current state of affairs:

Krew is a hideous, sweaty, wheezing lump of fat and grease that requires a hover chair to get around and his breath reeks of half-digested chicken and salmon whenever he inhales. exhales, or speaks. He's also a man that has his hands in everything \- legal and illegal - in Haven City and he knows how to lasso a noose around a person, you will, to get what he wants when he wants.

He owns his own chain of mildly successful pubs.

A very exclusive, very hidden night club.

And then, there's_ Krew Munitions_ right on the border of what separates Haven City from the Wastelands. _Krew Munitions,_ of course, happens to be the only weapons manufacturer in business on this post-apocalyptic planet. Guns, explosives, tanks, drones, automated turrets, robotic sentries...

One thing that I've already determined that most of the tech being mass-produced within that factory is too advanced for anyone on this planet to have come up with on their own. The factory is the reason I had been trying to weasel my way into Krew's operations for a while now.

Alas, getting a seat at the table, even as a low-ranked enforcer, continues to be...difficult. Nigh impossible, some might say. Krew apparently has high standards for the thugs and thieves in his employ.

However!

I have managed to tweak my Hologuise into something that meets the..interests that Krew and his inner circle have. Blonde hair, halter top, ripped jeans, and I even made some adjustments in the...uh...chest and hip area, et cetera. To better the illusion, of course. The craziest part is it has already worked so far.

Kind of.

Thanks to some hard work and some body language on my end, I've managed to secure the luxurious position of...what was the term...ahem..."tavern wench." A glorified bartender that has to deal with the catcalls of every lowlife and degenerate that walks into Krew's bar by the docks. I've got to play the part of a bubbly idiot and pretend that I don't see the freaks staring at my Hologuise'd aaaaaa...ahem...rear.

"The Customer Is Always Right", "Service With A Smile", yadda yadda yadda.

All I can hope for right now is that something big will come along and I've be lucky enough to raise up the ranks soon enough...

Until then, I have zip. Nada. A pile of nothing.

Moving on, I've been poking around to gather more knowledge on Eco.

According to legend, this planet used to be filled and overflowing with all types of Eco. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, White...Dark...

According to legend, there used to be entire silos filled with this stuff across this entire planet.

There was once a golden age for the people of this world that came to an end when the Metal Heads discovered this planet. The monsters were intent on stripping all the meat and Eco on the planet and leaving it as an used up, withered fossil. The beasts gorged themselves until the people "struck back" somehow in a manner which left the Metal Heads stranded on this planet forever at odds with the people of this planet.

A supposed stalemate has persisted for thousands of years and counting. All the while, as war is waged, Eco has become harder and harder to come by.

Oh, sure, people like The Baron have tried stockpiling Eco and issuing weekly blackouts to limit energy consumption in the city. Trying to keep access to Eco limited to the wealthy and anyone that can prove themselves to be of use to Praxis and the Krimzon Guard.

Not mention the so-called "raids" that the slums are subjected into search of criminals and deviants that are illegally hoarding Eco. No less than five times daily, by my count.

So.

Here I am.

Working for a crime lord pig that can't stop staring at my Hologuise persona's rear, and it has dawned on me that I'm in circumstances far beyond just saving the Bogon Galaxy from Rapid-Spawning Furballs. My former team members and I already know how quickly PROJECT Protopet went south from a mere "taste" of Dark Eco, and I shudder to think of what else that Vox could be cooking up with the Eco they've seized from this planet. .

Nothing good can come from any of this.

I suppose that I'll just see how this drama pans out eventually, I guess.

**Signed,**

**Angela L. Cross / "Tess McKnight"**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment.**

**The Personal Records of Angela Cross**

**Record 7**

Finally got a chance to "prove my worth" to "Mr." Krew (lest I get shot if I refused) today, and uh...well...it was an eventful evening. You see, I was "selected" to oversee "an exchange of items"...in the sewers.

Nothing glamorous, obviously, but a foot in the door is a foot in the door and it helps to have a gun in a hand.

Heh.

If nothing else, Mom made sure I understood that much when I was a kid.

The walk through the scenic Haven City sewer system was horrific and tedious. The smell of death mixed in with the scent of unmentionable substances. It should go without saying that the smells down there were murder on my nose. Definitely not a proper place for a felinoid species to be.

This "exchange" was supposed to be quick and simple (or so I was told), but things got...complicated when I saw who we were meeting up with in the sewers.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be due to the fact the other parties involved in this little black market deal were purple-scaled Reptillians from Planet Snivelak - representatives of the mercenary guild Thugs-4-Less. An off world species that, as myself, shouldn't have been there. I could feel distress squeezing on my entire being.

This exchange was three crates of Eco for three crates of Carbonox - one of the hardest, most valuable elements found in Bogon.

And then, the deal started to go south.

There were some disagreements over who owed who something or other. A few accusations that one side was trying to cheat the other. Blah, blah. blah...I wasn't paying much attention since a strong desire to get out of their was squeezing down and wrestling with other parts of my brain.

Everything went to Hell when one Thugs-4-Less goon caught on to my scent somehow. No matter what species you are or where you come from, the smell of cat is distinct across space-time. The Thugs-4-Less enforcers just- so happened to have a device to disable Hologuises on hand. Something home-brewed and custom at that.

So much for quality Megacorp tech.

So, there was this stunned awkward as everybody stared in stunned silence as Krew's men fixated on me why wide-eyed stares, Baffled that a "babe" that had once been standing with them had been replaced with a six foot one cat woman.

The Thugs-4-Less goons only had murder on their mind.

A fire-fight broke out.

Hell in a hand basket. Mass confusion.

In this confusion, I had both Snivelakians and members of Krew's enforcers attempting to train their guns on me with mutual animosity and contempt. However, the Thugs were packing more powerful weapons tech than Krew's men. I just had to keep moving and let them kill themselves in the calamity.

I'm lucky that I got of that chaos relatively unscathed. Believe me, there's nobody surprised more than me about that. So, as the last woman still standing,

I was the only one to deliver the crates of Carbonx to Krew and returned "his" Eco. I must admit that I felt strong satisfaction when I saw the look on his fat face when I showed up with the loot. I know that I've genuinely impressed him, and I know that truly ticks him off beyond words. Typical.

I'm being considered for a promotion, at any rate.

There is...a lot going on this planet right now. More than I thought.

Could Vox have been the ones throwing money at Thugs-4-Less to act as enforcers for their shadier operations? I know that Megacorp was more about creating their own enforcers and soldiers in fully owned Megacorp labs. It would stand to reason that Vox would operate in a similar way, but...nothing is certain right now.

Whoever or whatever is at work here, I have no clue what their endgame could be.

How am I supposed to figure out what could be gained through all this deception, shady business transactions, regicide, murder, and invasion?

Hm..

**Signing out for now,**

**Angela L. Cross / "Tess McKnight"**


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank AND Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment

**The Personal Records of Angela Cross**

**Record 8**

I've been doing some more research and investigation, and I've still managed to keep the wool pulled over Krew's eyes. He now boelieves me to be one of the more important tools in making sure his business deals go through swimmingly. I'm actually starting to claw my ways up the ranks now.

Today, it feels like Krew's interests are focused on after what happened earlier today and he can't be bothered with anything else.

There's been rumors and gossip that a swirling portal appeared in the sky this morning and a boy on a Zoomer came through it and crashed in the heart of the city. People have been saying that it was almost as if the Krimzon Guard had anticipated the boy's arrival, and they were quick to cover the incident up and arrest this mystery teen.

I've found myself stuck in a bit of a pickle.

The Metal Heads were the initially the reason that I believed I was on isolated on this planet in the first place, but that doesn't seem to quite be the cases anymore.

Somebody has enlisted the services of Thugs-4-Less on this planet in secret, and their actions remain one massive, bold question mark for the time being.

How long have they been exchanging Eco and Carbonox?

What if the Metal Heads and Thugs and Vox aren't the only off worlders using this planet for their own personal gain?

What are Vox's freaking plans?

Truth be told, I've haven't been sleeping that much again.

At any rate, this..."portal boy" is just one part of just how wrong and unusual things have become on this planet. Nobody actually knows what happened to him, because most people claim that they never saw him. Most people have opted to they have opted to believe Baron Praxis' lie-filled narrative.

I'll have look further into this portal boy story.

In the meantime, I have to keep working and hoping I can get a position inside Krew Munitions sooner rather than later.

**Signing out,**

**Angela L. Cross / "Tess McKnight"**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank AND Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment. **

**The Records of Angela Cross**

**Entry No. 9**

_Intergalactic Date: December 24th, 30XX_

_Planetary Date: Who even cares anymore?_

I miss Edwina.

I miss her cute accent.

I miss her can do attitude.

She...she was really something else. Talented, brilliant, and so kind to most people that crossed her path. Before this whole mess started, she was one of the best people that I had meet when I first started at Megacorp.

I still wonder if she found a way to get out of Bogon when the Vox Execution Bots started coming after all of us. I...hope that she was able to get back to her brothers in Solana safely.

You can't go wrong with a family reconciliation. Strength in numbers.

I miss her.

I always admired how it seemed like Edwina could build or repair just about anything with spare parts, AA batteries, and duct tape.

With everything that's happened and the whole being stuck on this planet and in this city, it...it feels like it has been forever since I actually thought about her and I just feel...depressed about that.

I feel like I should be ashamed that she han't been on my mind for so long, but deep down I know Edwina would tell me to stop sulking and actually do something.

"If fear and stress are flooding your head, get a plunger."

"Do what ya can to salvage a terrible situation."

The longer I knew her, the more...the more she seemed to always know what to say. Another thing that I always admired about her.

I can't salvage this situation by myself, but there ARE other actions that I know I can take. I still have the half-finished glider we were working on together. Maybe I can find a way to make it work with whatever I can get my hands on here in Haven City.

I can't do much on this planet as Angela Cross.

I can barely do anything on this planet as Tess McKnight.

But to do what I have to do next has led me to realize that I need to put those identities on a shelf and forge myself into somebody else.

I can't stand by forever and hope I can climb up the ladder of Krew's gang, I need to prepare for when I finally take what I need from Krew Munitions in the dead of night.

Until another dawn,

Angela L. Cross.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank + Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment.**

**The Personal Records of Angela Cross**

**Record 10**

You know, sneaking into_ Krew Munitions_ turned out to be easier than I thought at first. Which might have something to do with the fact that once I stepped foot into the place it became clear that whole factory was one industrial death trap.

Thankfully, any Lombax worth their sodium knows their way around such death traps.

_The_ _Megacorp Games._

_Annihilation Nation_.

_The Agorian Battleplex_.

By comparison, _Krew Munitions_ began as a cake walk.

Outfitted with a modified Lancer, a modified Tesla Claw (The Tesla Glove (TM)!), and a mask of my personal design.

Why the mask?

Sometimes, a Hologuise just isn't enough. I learned that much after my encounter with Thugs-4-Less in the sewers.

I outfitted the mask with tech to scramble the primitive electronic signals and radio frequencies that the security cameras and communications systems rely on wherever I go. It was designed to make my life a whole lot easier.

I had to exercise caution and stealth. I just had to get in, take what I intended, and get out of there as fast as I could.

There was a momentary hiccup though.

The security system was able to detect something amiss, because the cameras were malfunctioning and ascertaining that radio communication channels were down. It takes a fair bit of advanced coding for a security system to have enough awareness to realize it was failing.

So, the system decided to wake up "a few" KG Security Bots to hunt me down.

I'm...still getting the hang of actually using weapons against people out to exterminate me.

Long story short, I got lucky.

My Tesla Glove performed exceptionally for something that I just threw together.

After cleaving and clawing and shredding through most of the KG Bots (in a clear case of self-defense, just saying) I was finally able to wrench a neural core from a KG Bot's corpse and took a chunk of their armor for good measure. Which...was around the point where the colossal tank burst through a wall and I had to run for my life.

Oh, there was so much damage caused inside _Krew Munitions_ tonight during that...chase. I was a bit occupied trying to keep running and staying alive and not becoming reduced to a pulpy stain, but I would love to see the look on Krew's face when he's informed of what happened in his factory tonight.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

I got lucky when I jumped out a window, hoped for the best, and my glider actually responded and saved me on time before I became ground hamburger.

The tank that had been chasing me wasn't as lucky.

I have no idea how I'm still breathing and, you know, NOT ground hamburger, but I'm thankful. I think I may have found religion again. Ha. Mom would have been happy to know that.

ANYWAY.

Tonight was exhausting.

The neural core is pretty advanced tech as I already suspected. In fact, the thing is the same tech that Megacorp used to use for their own security robot line. Outdated tech in the rest of this galaxy, but far too advanced for the people on this rock.

The composition of KG Bot armor seems a bit too basic. I'm not sure if I should be suspicious or relieved.

Baron Praxis' reign goes on uncontested. The jerk denied that the earthshaking explosion of the _Krew Munitions_ tank hitting ground after an eight story drop ever happened and the people of this city are going about their lives pretending that everything is hunky-dory.

Also: I didn't break into the factory for just a neural core and metal analysis.

In the midst of all the fighting and the chasing, I used a little custom widget to drain some data from the_ Krew Munitions_ computer network. I didn't get it all, but I got enough by the time I got out and got back to my "apartment" in the city slums.

A whole lot of important, secret, and morally ambiguous information.

Information on, say, the Baron's Dark Eco experiments...

The blueprints for_ Krew Munition_'s "Piercer Bomb" project...

Transcripts of communications between Baron Praxis and Krew discussing the possibility of a future 'Orbital Elevator'...

And SO many other secrets.

This going to be fun.

Happy That Things Are Looking Up,

Angela L. Cross


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Computer Entertainment.**

**The Records of Angela Cross**

**Entry No. 11**

**T**here's been this been this new frequent customer that has been showing up at the Hip Hog for the last few weeks. He's..a rather energetic and bombastic fellow. Buying drink after after drink, and spinning outlandish yarns for any pair of ears willing to listen.

And he's a...otter weasel hybrid looking thing.

Yes, just like in my weird dreams first mentioned back in Log 3.

This development is a bit much, to say the least.

Prophetic, foreshadowing visions are supposed to be nothing more than fairy tales. I can't even brush this aside as brain or dream manipulation, because the brightest minds at Megacorp AND the Lombaxes have already ruled dream manipulation tech to be 100% implausible and unfeasible.

But here I am and the strange, reality-defying events keep on coming.

Anyway, this...ottsel calls himself Daxter. "An adventurer from a far off land."

Or so he claims.

Look, I'd admit that his personality is a little grating...but the little guy is kind of growing on me. If only he were, you know, taller. Not only that, my persona as Tess has made interactions...more than a little awkward as he has become rather infatuated with me.

Or...her. Tess McKnight.

Ugh.

I've never liked complications, but they keep coming into my life as if they can sense my annoyance and misery these days. The number of those complications have grown tenfold in recent history alone, because Daxter, rather drunkenly, confided in me that he had been with the Portal Boy that had crash landed in the city.

Daxter had seen Krimzon Gaurd take with the boy, his childhood friend, into custody to some secret prison facility or black site in the city. There is also the fact that Daxter has already been searching for a year now. In a place on a planet like this, most rational people would have accepted that the boy was dead by now.

Despite that, Daxter has yet to lose hope. I've never seen a friendship that strong before. To have such intense fate that his friend is still out there waiting to be rescued.

So, uh...

I've allowed Dax to stay with me in my apartment for the time being. It is far from luxurious, but he's better off here than crawling into some alleyway to sleep in like another drunken vagrant. Plus, I've got to keep an eye on him to make sure his tall tales don't get him horribly murdered. Censorship can be a hell of a thing in a dystopia like this.

He's still sleeping peacefully in a shoe box stuffed with cotton balls that I made for him. I'm of the impression that he hasn't sleep so peacefully in a long, long time. He's definitely a loud snorer, by the way.

Anyway, some sectors of the city are still abuzz with rumors and gossip over what didn't go down at Krew Munitions. A few people have already been arrested after being caught discussing the subject openly. You'd think some of the people here would know better than now.

What to do, what to do...

You know, I remember how my Mother used to tell me stories about the Zoni while raising me as a kit on Grelbin. A transdimensional, hive-mind species that held dominion over time and space. Entities that did their best to keep the space-time continuum stable intact and stable.

A species that selects proxies from time to time to take actions that the Zoni themselves could not.

I...wouldn't say that I'm sort of person to suddenly believe that I'm one such "divine" proxy or anything, but it just feels weird given how events in my life have been stacking up the way they've been lately.

No, no...

I have to keep reminding myself that I can't go chasing fairy tales.

There are more very real, very legitimate threats at work right now.

I have to remember that.

Signing out,

Angela L. Cross


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Ratchet & Clank and Jak (& Daxter) are (c) Sony Interactive Entertainment. **

**Records of Angela Cross **

**Entry 12 **

I've been going through the data I managed to swipe from Krew Munitions, and things are...bigger in scale and far worse than I had initially assumed. There are things in motion that could not only devastate this planet, but entire galaxies as well.

When I had originally wrote this planet of as a dystopian one horse world, it has become immensely clear that this planet and the resources on it are far of greater significance than I could have anticipated.

Krew's Piercer Bomb weapon requires this power source that is only described as A Precursor Stone. A relic containing so much raw energy that it could easily atomize an entire star system if destroyed or merely cracked. According to the data and the local mythology.

Baron Praxis doesn't seem to know any of this information and the risks, of course, and as far as I can tell Krew is absolutely intending to screw everybody else over for his own benefit, profit, and survival.

Personally, I'm starting feel like I need to cut my losses and head out to where I stashed my ship and get out of here.

But...

Well, for starters, I can't just leave Daxter alone here.

I mean, he's been working long hours for that Metal Bug extermination job just to help me pay rent here.

He's a bit of an idiot from time to time, but there moments when he's just the sweetest fellow...

Ahem.

Plus, I'm still secretly trying to find the whereabouts of his childhood friend Jak, If Jak's still alive, that is.

Further examination of the data that I've stole has revealed that Baron Praxis is thoroughly invested in experimentation involving Dark Eco to in the hope of successfully creating super soldiers for a war that most of this planet has already lost. There have been several criminal and political prisoners that have already perished in indescribable agony due to these "test runs."

I'm not sure how to tell any of this to Daxter...

Moving on, there haven't been any one more secret black market dealings with Thugs-4-Less. None that I've observed anyway.

Truth be told, I haven't had much time to think about things beyond this planet lately.

The Vox Empire is out there doing Zoni knows what right now.

Who even knows what the current state of the Protopet Project is, you know?

I cannot risk accessing intergalactic communications from here without attracting Vox or worse to this planet. The universe is filled with warrior races and monsters that are always on the look out for new planets to pillage and/or conquer. This planet wouldn't be able to survive a full scale invasion from Agorian or Grungarian fleets

It wouldn't take much for what is left of the people and resources on this planet to be picked clean definitively.

You know, I've already thought of telling Daxter the truth. About everything.. I mean, Daxter as been a good friend and drinking buddy. Dax deserves honesty, because,for some reason, he's somehow connected to all of this and, therefore, far more pivotal than I think he realizes. According to Dax, he became an Ottsel after direct exposure to Dark Eco. Stable (more or less), sapient, sane, and _without_ the feral thirst for blood that the Protopets displayed.

Daxter is just...Daxter, you know?

It just occurred to me that I still have my ship safe and stashed away, the coordinates of this planet thanks to the data core Jacobi gave me, a geometric warp drive, and more than enough fuel to go anywhere else in the universe, gather more resources, AND THEN come back here...

I'd obviously have to take Dax with me.

After finding a way to convince him that I'm not completely crazy.

He's still asleep in his shoe box and snoring to beat the band, but...here goes nothing, yeah?

Signing out,

Angela L. Cross.

Geneticist. Ex-Vox Industries Employee. Apparently Fighting Tyranny Now.


End file.
